Passers-by
by Candaru
Summary: The passers-by in the airport might mistake the rich kids running around wearing matching frills to be part of the same extended family. They might even mistake them to be siblings. Of course, Miles Edgeworth and Franziska von Karma know better than that... (Young!von Karma siblings; oneshot; rated T for safety. ADOPTIVE SIBLINGS, NO SHIPS.)


(A/N: yes yes I know this is an omniscient third-person POV fic, sue me— oh wait this is the ace attorney fandom I'd better not make that challenge)

* * *

"It's delightful to _finally_ be able to stretch my legs again," a young girl commented as she stepped off the dock of an oversized plane. The hallway leading to the airport was long and repetitive, and the bright safety lights along the top made it feel bizarrely like a space station. If she was an astronaut, then behind her trailed the head of NASA operations and a well-dressed alien lugging three cases of cargo.

"Miles," the older man chastised in a low, gravely voice, "leave the suitcases to the crew. They get paid for that, you know; don't give them an excuse to be lazy."

The well-dressed alien stopped and bowed. "Of course, sir. Pardon my ignorance. I merely assumed it would be better to keep the evidence close at hand, out of reach from a class of people we do not know."

"Hmm… At least there was _some_ logic to your thought process," the superior growled. "If not broken logic which ignores the fallacies of—" Before he could speak any further, the young girl interrupted him.

"Come now, Papa, I'm finally home! Aren't you glad to see me?"

Her grin only wavered slightly when the man replied that that would remain to be seen, depending on the grades she'd received on her finals. Off in the corner, Miles was politely discussing something with a flight attendant in hushed tones— probably needlessly apologizing for his actions.

"Miles. Franziska."

Both non-adults (for Franziska was ten years old now; not quite an adult but _certainly_ not a child) stood at attention to the respectable older figure as he withdrew a meticulously polished pocket-watch and checked the time.

"We have exactly one hour before the next flight. If either of you have anything you need to take care of, go do it now. I wish to rest after that dismal flight."

"But, Papa," Franziska started, "I was hoping to discuss my time in Germany with you. The culture is very interesting, and I've learned so much—"

"Silence," the girl's father snapped. "Did you not hear me? I wish to rest. That plane could _hardly_ be considered first class. The food was undercooked, the movie's audio was much too loud, and don't even get me started on those rickety seats. If my back gives out, I'll sue this entire airline for safety hazards, mark my words!"

"Franziska," Miles prodded gently, knowing when his mentor was in a bad mood, "why don't we walk around the premises and see if we can't find anybody slacking off at their job?"

The girl straightened up, quickly covering any possible disappointment she may have been displaying by accident. "Yes, I've been itching to use my riding crop again. I hardly ever get to do so at school." Miles backed away from the dangerous gleam in her eyes as she flexed her favorite tool all too comfortably in her hands.

From behind them, a deep voice reminded gravely, "Remember, you have exactly one hour. A von Karma is perfect in everything they do."

The pair bowed in sync— "Naturally, sir." "Yes, Papa."— and then gave each other the stink-eye as they quickly walked away from the stifling atmosphere of all the impatient first-class riders who were triple-checking the plane schedules on the wall.

"Your bows are always so… stuffy," Franziska criticized, twirling her crop in the air.

"Stuffy? You're the one who holds out your arms like a ballerina," Miles shot back with an arrogant smirk.

"That's the way a _lady_ does it!" Franziska huffed, "Not that_ you_ would know."

"Exactly. The way _I_ do it is how a gentleman bows."

Franziska rolled her eyes and decided not give her opponent any more satisfaction of debate— not because she couldn't think of a response, obviously, but because he was clearly trying to lead her on. And because she was more interested in the goings-on of the concourse around her.

Indeed, Miles was curious about the passers-by, too. He always found a level of fascination with the way others thought and acted, and besides, it was good prosecutorial training for him to analyze the movements of other people. At the current time, all airport lights were on to make up for the setting sun outside (which could be seen brilliantly through large windows). The stream of chatter was continuous, but since the pair was walking past each conversation, it was impossible to hear more than snippets of what any one person was saying.

"…got delayed _again…"_

"…in the middle of that theme park…"

"…can't believe they broke up…"

After a few minutes of walking and glaring down anyone who stared like they'd never seen good fashion sense before, the pair came across a set of vending machines selling cheaply made snacks and cans of soda for ridiculous prices.

"What on earth is this?!" Franziska exclaimed, examining the price tag listings on the side of one machine. "A single bag of Snackoos for five dollars?! This practically counts as exploitation!"

"It's an airport," Miles said, shrugging. "Everything is overpriced. Did you want to buy one?"

"Wh-what? Of course not!" Franziska snapped, shirking back as if the boy were the one holding the riding crop. "Have you forgotten a von Karma accepts nothing less than perfection? Those things are nothing but a cheap imitation of sugar for the uneducated masses!"

"…so says Mr. von Karma," Edgeworth followed up, pulling out a travel wallet with only an I.D. and one five-dollar bill.

"Precisely. Papa would have a fit if he caught me eating one of those," Franziska huffed. She crossed her arms defiantly, but Miles knew her well enough to tell when she wanted something. He pulled the bill out from his wallet.

"He can't have a fit if he doesn't find out. Here, he doesn't even know I picked this up from the plane we were on, so there's no way he'll know if I spend it."

Franziska raised an eyebrow and gasped in shock at the five-dollar bill. "You picked up money from the FLOOR? Do you even know how dirty that thing is?! There's no telling where it's been!"

"Yes, but your father dislikes us carrying pocket money because he wants to know all of our purchases, so the only way to buy something without him knowing is with money he doesn't know about." Miles winked, slipping the bill into the machine. Truthfully, there was a small part of him that winced at the thought of people refusing free money simply because it was _dirty—_ but he shoved that aside. He was a von Karma disciple, now; he had to overcome such foolish qualms.

"Hmph…" Franziska shifted away, glancing back and forth across the hall. "I-I would never disobey Papa! Even if he didn't know."

Miles pressed a few buttons and watched curiously as the spiral-shaped mechanism spun itself to release a bag of Snackoos into the collection area of the machine. He'd always wondered who invented the concept of vending machines in the first place; perhaps he'd study it if he had extra time one day.

"Technically, we're not disobeying him," the teenager said with a shrug. "He never told us _not_ to buy something from the vending machines."

The younger girl hesitated. "W-well… that _is_ true… technically, if the law doesn't expressly forbid something, then it's still a legally acceptable action… and besides, I was so absorbed in the movie on the flight that I forgot to eat…"

After several minutes of struggling with the bag, Miles finally ripped open the top and handed his little si—_subordinate_ a handful of Snackoos. After a moment of deliberation, she huffed and snatched them away.

"If you tell Papa, you'll get more than familiar with the end of my crop," she sputtered, shoving two of the chocolate-coated candies in her mouth.

"Cross my heart," Miles replied, drawing an X in the air with a Snackoo of his own. "And I'm already _plenty_ familiar with that thing, so keep it away from me."

After finding an empty bench to sit on, the duo was silent for a while as they shared their bag of legal chocolate contraband. It occurred to Miles as his mind wandered that he and Franziska were now the people being watched by the people-watchers in the concourse— and were probably an entertaining spectacle, at that. Even as a disciple of von Karma, he was vaguely aware of (and even a bit embarrassed by) the strange clash of his tasteful, high-end clothes and the bag of tasty, not-so-high-end snacks he was munching on. Not to mention that, to the untrained eye, he and Franziska might actually look like they were _enjoying_ each other's company.

"Do you ever wonder," he suddenly muttered through a mouthful of cheap candy, "if people think we're related?"

Franziska almost choked, then went into a coughing fit to get her air back, ignoring that Miles instinctively grabbed her shoulder in concern. When she was finished she cleared her throat. "I should _hope_ not! Everybody who's anybody ought to know the von Karma name, and, by extension, the line of the von Karma blood."

"Of course," Miles hastily amended. "I just meant people who aren't from home. You know, passers-by. Like the people in the concourses." He half-motioned to the trickling stream of people in front of them.

Franziska paused to consider this point, watching as the strangers turned into silhouettes against the sunset-colored sky in the giant windows across the way. She'd noticed that Miles had an uncanny ability to find the most artistic spot in any location and situate himself there— even if he wasn't trying to, and even if the location was someplace as messy and public as a common airport.

"Who cares what they think, I suppose," she finally said. "They're just riff-raff, after all."

Miles was quiet for a moment. "Yes, I suppose."

The duo finished the rest of their snacks and carefully cleaned their faces of chocolate smudges before disposing of the bag, sealing away the evidence of their crime for all eternity. Franziska was nearing her "shutdown point," Miles could tell (she was the sort of person who didn't get tired slowly, but rather switched off suddenly like a light when it got past her bedtime), so they hurried back to meet with the older von Karma before boarding the next plane for the rest of the flight home.

It occurred to Miles that he'd forgotten to ask Franziska about her time in Germany, but he assured himself he'd ask her the next time von Karma was out of the picture. After all, he would have plenty of time— whereas he'd been doing most of his own studying in peaceful solitude for the past several months, he was going to be seeing a lot more of the young drama queen over her summer vacation.

And somehow, the thought didn't really bother him as much as one might think.

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(A/N: This entire fic was inspired by the flavor text if you click on the Swiss-rolls in Miles Edgeworth: Investigations, because I could not stop thinking about it all day and also because I needed to explain why two ultra-rich kids would have to pool their money together to make _six dollars_ goodness gracious)

(Reviews are Snackoos for my Muse! :D)


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